


Fledgling Wings

by Midnight_Peanut_Gallery



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable Connor, Good Parent Haytham, Haytham is an overprotective bastard, I'm not going to Hell for this, I'm really happy with this idea, Imprinting, Platonic father-son relationship, Wingfic, none of that soulmate bullshit, story is rated for other content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Peanut_Gallery/pseuds/Midnight_Peanut_Gallery
Summary: You remember that scene where Connor and Haytham run into eachother at the abandoned church? Connor's wings decide to emerge right about then.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to post this last night, but my phone said,"Fuck you and your hard work typing up a good story on the mobile keyboard!" and promptly deleted the work in progress, and took me back to my dashboard. Then I said,"Fuck you! I can copy and paste from my Wattpad since that site saves the damned draft without deleting it!" So, I'm doing this on a computer, and saved the intro on my wattpad so i could re-write the damned story. Btw, Charles Lee will die by Haytham's hand if ya'll want me to continue this. Just let me know.

He heard slight fluttering when he walked in, and passed it off as some birds startling at his presence. He looked around for a second, noticing that nothing was there. "Dammit! I got here too late!", he thought aloud. He reached around to scratch at the large blisters on either side of his spine, and growled in frustration. It was difficult to scratch through the material, not to mention the restrictions on his movement the blisters caused on their own without the help of fabric. He remembered asking Achilles what was wrong with him, and remembered the dread that filled him when the old man essentially said that he didn't know. He heard a louder flutter this time, and felt a large weight crash into him, pinning his back to the ground. Pain erupted in his back, and shot through every nerve in his body like a white hot flame. He shut his eyes against it, although it did him no good, and he did the one thing no Assassin should ever have reason to do: he screamed.  
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Haytham startled at the bloodcurdling scream for a split second before shaking off the stupor. He sniffed, and caught a certain, faint scent. 'Oh.' He noticed the uncharacteristic tears streaming down his son's face, and knew he had to act quickly before things got messier than they already were. He flipped the native onto his stomach, and noticed the holes that were supposed to be on the uniform's back had been sewn shut. In this moment, he was glad he kept his blade sharper than a razor's edge, and sliced the back open so he could see what he was dealing with. However, he was also pissed at whomever had sewn the back of the coat. It was designed much like his own: to be worn by a 'dark angel', as the rest of the Order called him.

He could very well see the issue with the back opened like it should have been, and his eyes widened. 'He should NEVER had gotten to this state!', he thought angrily. He could see the fledgling wings twitching inside the translucent blisters. "I have to cut them out.", he stated, hopefully calm enough not to upset the fledgling more than he already was. 'At least he's not screaming anymore.' It was obvious that Connor physically couldn't struggle at the moment, even if he wanted to. It was simply too painful, and he was too exhausted from the stress of it. Haytham quickly sliced open the blisters, dodging as the naked wings literally popped out. The process was pretty much bloodless, but the clear fluid still drained from the younger man's back, soaking his clothes, and since he was sitting on him, Haytham as well.

The fledgling's baby scent filled the air, and the Brit knew he wouldn't be able to hurt him, not that he'd tried to before, anyway. The realization that this was his son, that had inherited this trait from him, struck him like a brick wall. His large black wings unfurled behind him, and made an attempt to shield the fledgling from the biting cold. "Come on. Get up.", he softly ordered as he got off of the younger man. "So cold.", came the soft reply. "I know, but you'll freeze in that. You're soaked to the bone." He folded his wings back just enough to remove his outer coat, since it wasn't wet. He'd removed the fledgling's coat, and replaced it with his own, noting how Connor nuzzled into it.  
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With the culprit dead, horse stolen, and Connor imprinted on him, Haytham took him back to Davenport homestead. Needless to say, Achilles attacked him with a slew of questions including "What did you do to him?!" and "What are you doing here?!" and "Why would I let you in the house?!" To this, the Brit simply stated,"You will let me in if you want Connor to survive this." The old Assassin backed down after that last statement, the young man being almost like a grandson to him. Of course, Haytham had to ask that one question that had been nagging at him. At least he waited until his son was settled against him in the boy's room. "How the Hell did he wind up like that and why was the back of his coat sewn shut?" The old man sighed,"I don't know what you are, Haytham. I'm not exactly familiar with your kind." "My kind? You have books across almost every pantheon in the world that mentions my kind. How are you not familiar with my kind?" "In those books, your kind are akin to demons! That boy is not a demon!" "Don't. Ever. Raise. Your. Voice. At. Me. Again.", the Brit hissed through clenched teeth. Connor chose that moment to tighten his hold on his father. "Please don't fight.", he said quietly. To that, Achilles made to leave. "Where are you going?" "He asked us not to fight, and I'm leaving so we don't." 

Haytham sighed heavily, hearing the old man rage on about how a Templar was in his house. He turned his attention back to his son, who was mostly asleep. He wrapped his arms and wings around the fledgling, feeling his mind slow down enough to rest. The Brit smiled, and allowed himself to drift a little as well, although still conscious enough to act quickly if need be. Haytham had just watched the dark angel equivalent of his son being born, and was glad he basically got a second chance with the half-native. Briefly, he wondered about Ziio. 'How is she? Does she know? It's been so long since I've seen her. Can we be a family?' Then his thoughts turned sour. 'What if she's not well? I'll ask Connor tomorrow.'


	2. Ch. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short, guys. My muse is torn so badly between this, Shadow wolves, and a Van Helsing fanfic I want to put up here because the fact that they killed off Ana pissed me off so much. Thing is, I wrote that story down in a journal (with a pencil, for you noobs out there that don't know what an actual journal/notebook is) and found it recently! New story? Hopefully! I already took up too much of your time, already. ON WITH THE STORY!!!!

"I'm going outside." "No. You're not." "Why?" "Because I said so!" "But it's hot!" "You're hot now, and you'll be freezing in a few minutes." "What if I'm not?" "It's the dead of winter, boy! Are you touched in the head?" "Perhaps." Haytham sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was damn near impossible to argue with his son when the boy had his mind set on something, and that current something appeared to be freezing his ass off under a snowbank at 3:00 in the morning. "You are going to get yourself killed one of these days." Connor huffed and crossed his arms over his bare chest, still naked (but at least healed) wings folded behind him. Achilles had initially thought it odd for them to heal and grow so quickly over a week...at least until Haytham corrected him as politely as humanly possible, which was phenomenal, in his opinion. "I'm hot. I am going outside.", the native said, turning to walk out the door.

 

Haytham sighed,"Just open the window in your room, but do not go out there." He thought compromising would work. Connor huffed, and unintentionally bowed up. Haytham quickly stood, and flared his fully grown wings out. The large black wings cast a huge black shadow across the room. Naturally, he accidentally knocked the candle off the table, the gust of air blowing it out, which left the entire house in darkness. The fledgling deflated, and suddenly found interest in his feet. He shuffled up to his room when Haytham relaxed, and pushed his bed against the already open window. He nestled down and catnapped. He woke up shivering, quickly closed his window, and threw the comforter over himself. However, he couldn't fall asleep. He groaned loudly in his annoyance.

 

\-----------------------

 

The Native trudged down the stairs, hair messy, head hung low, and the scent of distress overpowering his natural powdery smell. Haytham quickly noticed, "Are you alright, my boy?" Connor instantly straightened his stance, and put up his guard. "I'm fine. Why are you worried?" Haytham scoffed at his son's attempt to brush him off, "Oh, nothing. It's just between the stunt you pulled last night, you are disheveled. Don't look at me in that tone of voice, you look worse than usual. Not to mention, did you know that emotions give off a scent of their own? You can't hide that from me like everyone else. What's. Wrong." Connor sighed heavily, his shoulders, head and wings dropping again. "I couldn't sleep well last night." The Brit's expression softened a bit at the answer, and pulled his son into a hug. The Native stiffened at the contact. "Another thing you'll have to get used to. We are not human, Connor, so touching isn't taboo. What's made you like this?" He could smell the distress worsen, but also three other emotions: anger, fear, and sadness.

 

"It's alright, son. You can tell me." Connor choked out a sob. Haytham tightened his hold. The Native wrapped his arms around his father, and managed,"Charles Lee." Haytham felt his protective instincts take hold at the answer. "What did he do, son?", he asked as gently as he could, surrounding both of them with his ink black wings. "Why do you care? You ordered him to do it." The Brit was shocked by the statement, no...accusation. "You are my son! I don't want to hurt you. I never have. What did he do and when did he do it, Connor?" The fledgling shook his head, and tried to pull away. "Father, let go of me!", he strained through clenched teeth. "Do you know why people call us dark angels?" "No, and I don't care! Let me go!" "Getting a straight answer out of you is like pulling teeth! You've left me no choice!"

 

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It wasn't the first time Haytham had to bite someone, but it threw him for a loop this time. He never realized just how much anger and hatred his son possessed for his second in command, and sought the disturbing reason why. He knew Connor would be reliving it, and that fact tore him apart, although he would be the one controlling how fast and slow the memory played out. There were things he needed to know, and had to get to the source of the problem.

 

The memory started happy, as a game of hide and seek. Haytham felt himself fill with pride at how much skill his son had at such a young age, then remembered that Ziio would have taught him that. He pushed his own sadness aside to watch the memory play out. Soon, it was Connor's turn to hide, and hide he did. He waited...and waited....then he was yanked out of the leaf pile by his hair. Charles' face was the first one he saw...the one that was ingrained into the boy's mind. The evil smile on the dark haired man's face as he beat the child drew the dark angel's anger. One of his companions tried to be more gentle with the child, but otherwise could do nothing as Charles outranked him. He sped the memory along until Connor woke up from being knocked unconscious. He knew the boy had to have a headache after being hit in the head with the butt of a gun, and knew that breathing smoke would make it worse, but he ran into the burning village anyways. Haytham felt his heart clench when he heard Connor call for his mother, searching everywhere for her. Then he heard her call for him over the roaring enferno. Next thing he knew, there she was, trapped under a beam, both legs broken and badly burned. Haytham fell to his knees when he saw her, and was gratefull that Connor had tried to save her. She screamed at him to run right before the building collapsed on her, and almost on their son. Her dying screams were constantly replaying in their son's mind long after she had moved on. Grief turned to anger. Anger turned to rage. Rage turned to vengence, the very thing he now sought.


	3. Ch 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end? I figured y'all could use a bit of relief from the seriousness...and yes, they were annoying the hell outta me while I was writing this.

The fledgling grew wary of his father since his memories were read, and the Brit understood why as soon as he saw his second in command's face. The Native was hardly ever inside the house, and had taken to sleeping on branches whenever he could for a few days afterwards. As easy as it would have been to simply retrieve his son, Haytham thought better of it. After all, he would just run again, and perhaps farther.

 

Connor was exhausted those few days, and had just taken to locking his door. He didn't allow his father to touch him, and tried his damndest to avoid him like the plague. Still, sleepless nights grew worse. Nightmares turned back into night terrors, and the blood curdling screams had people worried. The homesteaders would come by regularly to check on their landlord, only to be met with the very same man falsely reassuring them away.

 

Eventually, Haytham finally confronted him. He actually looked at his son in that time. He noticed the paleness of the youth's normally tanned skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the shuffling walk when the fledgling thought no one was around, the wide eyes searching every dark corner. He felt his heart break for the boy, and felt responsible for his condition.

 

Then came that one night that Haytham finally decided enough was enough. He rushed up to his son's room when he heard the screams only to be met with the locked door. Every other time, he had respected his son's wishes to go through this alone, but not tonight. Tonight he kicked the door off the hinges and ran to the fledgling's side.

 

He grabbed Connor and hugged him, bringing his wings to wrap around them. Eventually, the Native calmed down in his arms. Haytham honestly had no idea of the right thing to say. He knew what he wanted to say: that he's kill everyone responsible for Ziio's murder. However, that also placed him at blame for bringing the power hungry bastard into the Order. He'd heard about legendary assassins and how they've brought down evil from within the Brotherhood and defeated the Order. One such assassin came to mind: Ezio Auditore. He knew the Templar Order was corrupt at the time, and was reminded of the man Ezio brought down. He knew the Pope wanted to rule the world, and would kill to do it, a thought that disturbingly reminded him of Charles' character. However, the Assassin's claimed to want freedom and peace in all things, but they also took contracts. 

 

In that moment, Haytham found himself at a crossroads, both paths leading him away from the Order. One path lead to joining the Brotherhood again, a path he could see nothing but cons in down the line. The other lead to him leaving both organizations all together. He knew he had to utilize his connections as Grandmaster before he left, and descretly kill Charles while he was at it. 'Or I could let Connor do it. He's practically dying to, anyways. That and it'd take attention off of me if he killed my second in command, but I'd be expected to take action. I could launch an investigation against him and have him executed. No, he has people loyal to him that would save him. I could take him to have a drink. He can't handle much alcohol. Might as well.'

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("So, wait...He's going with the 'Fuck Both Factions Faction'? Sweet!" "Rebecca, I hardly think the audience wants our opinion on the matter." "Nah, they'll be fine. If nothing else they'll freak out about the fourth wall." "*sigh*" "Guys, why are you ruining the story?" "Probably because the author imagined us talking about this. I dunno. Just a guess. Not that your fragile little mind could handle that concept." "Shaun! Be nice!" "Tell me I'm wrong." "I'll tell you you're an ass!" "Shut it, yank!" "Fuck you, limey!" "Ladies! You're both pretty! The author's getting mad at us!" "Why would she get mad at us? She's writing this!" "Um, duh. We're fucking with her story." *An erie cloud decends upon the trio, sending a sense of dread down their spines* "Fuuuck" "Bloody hell." "Told ya."


	4. Ch. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but 1) I need to get back into the feel and flow of this story and 2) writer's block is a bitch.

"What's the special occasion?" "Does one need a special occasion to simply have a drink with an old friend?" "You've never struck me as the type, Haytham. You have something planned." "Charles, paranoia does not suit you." The shorter man stood abruptly, a scowl on his face while Haytham looked at him with concern. "What's the matter, Charles?"

"Grandmaster. You'll have to forgive me. There is an assassin." "Yes, I am aware. I am also aware of exactly who brought his rage upon the Order." The pale man threw an accusing glare his way, causing him to stand and stretch his wings out. "His rage is your doing, and I personally cannot find it within myself to blame him for I would have done the same as he." "Are you working with him?" "No, but you're lucky I haven't killed you. That woman I was so attached to was his mother." Charles now looked ready to flee. Eyes wide, shaking like a leaf, mouth opening as if to say something, then closing over and over again. Charles knew he'd fucked up, even though the realization came a decade too late. Haytham knew he blew his chance for the original plan. Charles would talk. Scream, even.

Haytham grinned, long canines digging into his lips, then snarled as he quickly jabbed the man in the throat hard enough to make it cave in. Charles' hands went to his throat, making a choking sound. Haytham strode to the floored man, ripped his hands away, and proceeded to bar his crushed throat with his arms. Then a familiar fog clouded his mind.

"Why, Grandmaster?!" "You cannot be allowed to live, Charles! You've slaughtered entire villages full of innocents, and I'm sure more than that! You lust after power! Power that I have mistakenly held before you like a bone before a dog. I am correcting past mistakes with your death. May the father of understanding guide you."

With that, the fog cleared, and Charles was dead. Haytham sighed heavily. 'Now how to clean this mess?' He looked out the window, noting that the haystack was still there. Then he looked around to see if anyone was watching, and caught a glimpse of  nearly glowing blue moving around in an alleyway across the street, and smiled. He hefted the body onto his shoulder, and threw it into the hay. He watched as the blue cartman wheeled it away to be burned. With a satisfied smile, he turned to leave his room. After all, he had to act quickly with the deed done.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Voting comment in the comments section. Please tell me if you'd like me to continue this work in your replys to that comment.


End file.
